


first night of the cycle

by brainyisalwayssexy



Series: Remadora in Film Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, all the depth that David Yates could never do, bc the movies saw remadora in the books and said <3, but this scene was a missed opportunity, idek what tags work here, loosely based on movie canon, takes place during the half blood prince film, with some light modifications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainyisalwayssexy/pseuds/brainyisalwayssexy
Summary: Tonks and Remus reconcile with the attack on the Burrow and how truly fragile their romance is.Oneshot, PWP but with feelings. Loosely based on the movie canon, with some additional liberties taken to give it some flavor and, uh, nuance. I think. They’re already dating, as the movie canon fleetingly establishes.Takes place after the fight sequence in the Half Blood Prince. Tonks’ POV.
Relationships: Remus Lupin & Nymphadora Tonks, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: Remadora in Film Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043574
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46





	first night of the cycle

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I rewatched the Attack on the Burrow scene for the exactly 10 seconds of Remadora it gave us. As most useless as the sequence is, though, I was immediately distracted by how damn GOOD Tonks and Remus look (Tonks’ cool mullet! The dress! Lupin’s cute little suit and tie! Ahhh!)
> 
> This fic is the product of my unadulterated thirst for both of them and basically nothing else.
> 
> You should rewatch the scene, if you’d like to get into it. But not necessary. 
> 
> And of course: the less JKR says, the better. Kthxbye.

She and Remus stay and help out, after. Though  _ help _ is admittedly a poor word for it.

The fire’s ravaged through the Burrow by the time they’re able to put it out, leaving just the bare bones of the place. A mere shell of what it once was.

It can be rebuilt, yes - but at what cost?

There are no answers, tonight. At least, none anyone wants to articulate, presently.

So Arthur finds a place for Molly and the kids to relocate to, for the time being.

And for now -- that will have to be enough.

* * *

Once the kids are gone, the adults turn back to the work of saving what remains.

She feels Remus’ presence at her side throughout, his hand briefly catching hers, offering a comforting squeeze.

And despite everything that’s happened tonight -- the sheer  _ madness _ of it all -- his touch is all she needs to silence her racing thoughts, her still-unspoken fears.

* * *

The two of them work together with the Weasleys seamlessly, silently after that.

Frankly, no other words truly  _ need _ to be said.

Tonks isn’t sure what she’d say, either.

Nothing seems like it would be enough. To make up for the magnitude of  _ tragedy _ that’s just happened.

Sure, everyone’s safe and unhurt. That’s a paltry relief, if nothing else.

But burning down the Weasley house -- a familial home with such fond memories, whole generations’ worth of them -- it’s seemingly random and yet somehow, so wholly and specifically  _ cruel _ .

And of course, nothing is ever  _ truly _ random. Not when the Dark Lord is involved.

It’s not a full-blown declaration of war. But  _ damn _ if it doesn’t come close.

The sign of the impending showdown they’d been waiting for -- it’s here. Beyond a scope of doubt.

And no one wants to think, let alone voice, concerns about what it means for the future. Or if there even  _ is _ one waiting for them.

So they don’t talk. It’s all just too much. 

Instead, they let the silence fill up the empty spaces their minds can no longer bear.

* * *

At around two in the morning, the job is finished. They say their goodbyes, quiet and subdued. 

Then, without so much as another word, she takes Remus’ hand in her own. A sharp crack follows, and then they disapparate together.

* * *

They reach her flat -- their  _ home _ , as it were -- in silence once more.

Tonks doesn’t even bother to turn the lights on. Can’t be arsed, frankly. The silvery, ghostly moonlight that comes in through the windows is illumination enough, for now.

And it’s only after they’ve pushed the door open, when they’ve all but collapsed in her living room from grief or tiredness or both that she finally turns to him.

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

The words come out a little sharper than she’d intended. Even in the hazy half-darkness, Tonks can see his face turn suddenly apologetic and sincere.

“I’m sorry, darling. I had to protect Harry.” 

The moment plays back in her head now — the two of them, pulling their wands out at the sight of Bellatrix, only to get overtaken by Potter, who’d bolted down the stairs and into the angry flames without a second thought.

Then Remus had followed Harry, and she’d followed him, too. 

Hell, he had done  _ exactly _ what she would do.

“I  **know** ,” she murmurs, and she leans in and nuzzles him, because she’s  _ not _ angry at him, not really. “And I have to protect  _ you _ , you dolt.”

He laughs at her jab, something half-broken and half-serious in his voice. Pulls her in close, one hand gently cupping her face.

She leans into his touch, her hand wrapping around his. Closes her eyes for just that instant, and revels in the feeling of him holding her like this, grounding her to the present.

But then she opens her eyes to see Remus looking at her again, and she can see the exact moment of realization dawning on his face, as the full expanse of memories of the battle come hurtling back.

“I almost lost you too, you know.”

The words come out quiet and slow. A statement of fact, more than anything else.

And she remembers it now, the very memories she’d been trying so hard to push away -- staring down her aunt in the open field. The look of pure, unadulterated hatred that had twisted Bellatrix’ face as she’d recognized  _ who, _ exactly, had come to Harry’s aid.

But it wasn’t even the sight of her monstrous aunt that had sent her into a seething fury.

No, it was the moment immediately after that, when she’d spotted Fenrir. How the mere sight of him, passing though it was, had curdled her blood, made her darkly,  _ unspeakably _ angry.

This was, after all, the monster who’d ruined Remus’ life, damned him to a lifetime of pain and suffering. An incarnation of sadistic, meaningless evil, in its worst, most horrible form.

She’d thrown a set of deadly curses at them both, all semblance of self-preservation suddenly gone. Had come close to both hitting and getting hit in the short battle that had ensued (though really, if she could take either of them down, it really wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, she had mused).

But in the end, for reasons they couldn’t know, both Death Eaters had left, only stopping just to finish the job and set the Burrow on fire, destroying it completely. On command from the Dark Lord himself, she’s sure.

And she has no misconceptions about how damn  _ lucky _ she is to have come out unharmed. She’s well aware that Bellatrix could have easily used tonight to finally prune the Black Family Tree of yet another blood traitor, and that she came pretty damn close, too.

But looking at her boyfriend now (such a tremendously shallow word for what Remus  _ is _ , to her) she simply can’t find it in herself to care.

Because he’s safe and unharmed and  _ alive _ . And right now, that’s all that matters.

“You  _ didn’t _ lose me.” she reminds him gently, saying the words for herself as much as she says them for him. “Not tonight.”

He gives her a look, then, that he saves for her and  _ only _ her — looking as wholly smitten as she always feels around him, and ruggedly handsome at that. 

But there’s something else there, too. Something that looks a bit like  _ hope _ , and it tugs at her heartstrings.

So before she can think better of it, she leans in and kisses him.

Once. Quick and chaste, more an act of comfort and easy affection than anything else.

_ Twice _ . Not so chaste, this time. 

She nips at his lower lip, pulls a low groan out of his chest. Feels her heart rate speed up, her cheeks flush as he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her into his body.

They’ve not been together long, so they’re still navigating  _ this _ part of the relationship. The physicality of it all, the effect they have on each other, with even the most passing of touches. 

And while the prospect of dragging him down and letting them both lose themselves is a hard one to resist, she wonders if she should stop. He must be bone tired, after the fight. 

(And it still is, after all, the first night of the cycle.)

So she pulls back, breathing hard. Meets his gaze and finds his eyes clouded over with desire. It’s a look on him that’s as close to feral as he ever gets, as if suddenly his entire world has narrowed down to just her and nothing else. 

Remus draws closer, eyes dark. The look in his eyes is unmistakable, one that makes her practically dizzy with need.

His hand traces the small of her back. Gentle, yet firm.

“Do you want this?” he murmurs, settling the question that’s been forming in her mind.

( _ Ever _ the gentleman, this one.)

Tonks doesn’t hesitate. She leans in again and kisses him, hard. Pulls back with a grin.

“Does that answer it?”

He smiles, suddenly looking younger than his years and affliction have forced him, and  _ Merlin’s beard _ , it takes all of her self control not to immediately drag him down again.

“ _ Yes, _ ” he agrees simply, and then  _ he’s _ the one to lean in and kiss her now, dragging his tongue across her lower lip and making her moan.

They snog for a bit like hormonal teens, all ragged breaths and desperate touches, and it’s fun and hot and positively  _ reckless  _ in a way that completely and totally belies everything else that’s happened, tonight.  _ Despite _ it, she supposes.

Then she’s pushing him forward and they’re tripping over, then awkwardly stumbling onto, an enormous grandfather chair.

(It’s her fault for the tripping part, mostly, if she’s being honest. The combat boots she’d picked tonight are not practical in the slightest when it comes to staying upright, but they  _ are _ cute.)

He laughs at her clumsiness and she laughs right with him before she sets him down in the chair, settles herself onto his lap.

Remus knots a hand in her hair, which she’s been wearing brown and in a short mullet, as of late. Everyone and their mother has felt the need to comment on it, on how drab and boyish it is, how the pink and purple and blue sat far more prettily on her face, but that’s entirely the point. To  _ not _ be seen, noticed, desired. And it’s actually  _ worked _ , extraordinarily well at that.

But the way Remus looks at her hasn’t changed, not once. It’s the way he’s looking at her now — awestruck, reverential. Like she’s the only person he sees, the singular point of light in a blazing, dying universe. Which is the inevitable end of all things, she supposes, dark wizards or not.

And it’s at that moment that she realizes — she’s so  _ damn _ lucky to have him. 

She’ll take him, for as long as she can. As long as she’s able. 

So she leans down and kisses him, again. Rolls her hips against his and revels in the way he groans, low in his throat, shifts himself up against her.

There's something comforting and solid and  _ grounding _ about his presence, right now. His large, rough hand tangling in her hair as he pulls her in closer, the scratchy-soft of his beard as he breaks from her mouth, trails harsh kisses down her neck and back up again.

Plus, he looks  _ ridiculously _ cute in his tweed suit, lightly singed as it is. Paired with the tie and the button up shirt, it’s all very…  _ academic _ , to say least. Very on-brand for him. 

She swears she’ll tell him later, probably when he least expects it. Hopes it’ll make him laugh or blush or both. 

For now, though, she just focuses on  _ him _ . On pressing herself closer to him, on moving them into a steady rhythm so he can get a  _ fucking hint _ , because she  _ wants _ him, and if he doesn’t quit teasing her and  _ do something about it already _ she just might scream.

He picks up on it, thankfully. Remus’ hands go up her thighs, under her dress, pulling her in. Evaluating, no doubt, how they’re going to do this. 

As for her, well, she hasn’t got much of a brain left to think with, honestly. He just needs to  _ hurry up _ .

“Do you care about these tights?” he asks, pulling away from a searing kiss, and somehow it’s the  _ last _ question she expected to hear from him.

“No, not really,” she assures him quickly, though she’s not  _ entirely _ sure where this is about to go.

“ _ Perfect _ ,” he murmurs against her mouth, and then he’s tearing through them with such ease that she has to hold back a gasp of surprise.

“ **_Fuck_ ** , Remus,” is all she can manage, and he meets her with a look that’s positively  _ wicked _ , one that just makes her want him even more desperately than before.

He’s only ever so greedy, so  _ possessive _ in private. But then again, Remus has always been both man and beast - and she loves every part of him. Wants him  _ exactly _ as he is, no questions asked.

At  _ last _ , they’re both where she’s wanted them to be this whole damn time. Tonks doesn’t bother taking off any more clothing, mostly because she has neither the energy nor the patience left. So she drops her hand to his waistband and quickly unzips his pants, removes the last barrier of clothing between them.

He leans down, then, pushes her panties aside. Slowly,  _ achingly _ presses himself into her.

And for a moment, she completely blanks. Focuses on the feeling of him, inside her, beneath her, his hot breath on her cheek. 

On this moment,  _ exactly _ as it is.

“ **_Dora_ ** _. _ ” He murmurs her name so reverentially it sends a shiver down her spine.

“ _ Sweetheart _ …” she gasps back, and that’s his sign to  _ move _ . 

He starts off slow. Gentle, almost. 

She clutches at his back, buries her head in his shoulder.

And it’s as those shallow thrusts become deeper, harder, as she shifts to rock herself against him, that it strikes her -

They’re wrong. They’re  _ all _ wrong. Voldemort’s lot, that is.

Because this is  _ it _ . The very thing, worth betraying any magical legacy, any facade of upholding the purity of the bloodline purity for. 

To love and  _ be _ loved, without fear, without reservation. 

The very people they’re fighting against -- they’ll have to live and yes, one day even  _ die _ , all without knowing what this was  _ like _ . 

It’s why they’ll lose. Tonks  _ knows _ that, now.

Tomorrow is not guaranteed. But she has him, if just for tonight. And that’s  _ more _ than enough.

So she pushes away all other thoughts. Draws back, now, to focus on what’s in front of her instead: on his face, scarred and lined and so damn  _ beautiful _ to her. On the way he pulls her in and kisses her now, hard and fast and greedy, so perfectly in line with the way his hips meet hers, with the numbing buildup of pleasure.

And before she even realizes it’s happening she finds herself coming, the sensation wiping all rational thought from her mind. She mewls weakly, arms wrapping around his neck for support as she goes limp. A much-needed reprieve of sorts as she lets the feeling wash over her, consume her.

Remus holds her in his arms for a few moments. Lets her recover completely before he nips at her jawline, still hungry, still wanting. She kisses him again, soft and slow and gentle, then decidedly less so, the message clear:  _ yes, you can have me. You have all of me. _

He makes a noise she doesn’t quite recognize, then, something low and deep in his throat. Another moment, and then he gathers her up in his arms and moves them both to the ground.

And she takes it all in, once more: the cool feel of the floorboards against her back, the silver light of the moon, filtering in through the windows. The look on his face, the raw need and love and  _ desire _ , one she  _ knows _ matches her own.

This is worth living for, she decides. This is worth dying for.

Then the last thing she remembers before her mind goes completely blank is the way she cries out in pleasure when he adjusts her hips and presses into her once more, her hands on his back, his name on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment + kudos if you enjoyed! I hope to be writing a few more stories soon.


End file.
